Always
by ChocolateBrownPegasi
Summary: Slamming the door shut behind him, he wrapped his arms around his torso, clutching the shattering pieces of himself together. Leaning back against the door, he slumped and sunk slowly to the floor, the tears beginning to trickle down his face. What had he ever done to deserve this? M rated for dark themes and depression.


Slamming the door shut behind him, he wrapped his arms around his torso, clutching the shattering pieces of himself together. Leaning back against the door, he slumped and sunk slowly to the floor, the tears beginning to trickle down his face. Emerald Green eyes shimmered in the moonlight that leaked into his room via the thin gap that his curtains left by the window. He began to whimper, his head leaning against the cabinet by the door.

He had never felt so alone.

Why did she have to leave him? After three years, is that all he meant to her? After three years, was that really all he was worth? A slagging match, telling him that he was the worst boyfriend she'd ever had?

He bit his tongue and forced himself to stop crying. How pathetic he must seem. Pushing himself up off the coral blue carpet, he quickly spun in the middle of the room and collapsed backwards onto his bed, which was not far from his door. He kicked off his shoes, throwing them into a corner with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. He just couldn't accept it; his brain refused to grasp the concept.

She had left him.

Fresh tears cascade down his cheeks, cutting into the warm flesh like a still hot knife. He could not think, could not feel. What on earth had he ever done to deserve this? As far as he could think back, there was never a problem...

Their relationship had started just like any other; happy, fruitful. They had spent every moment together; a smile comes to his face as he remembers their first Christmas. They had gone over to a field not far from her house, and they had played for hours. Snowball fights, building a snowman, snow angels; it was all child's play, but he was yet to think of a time that he had ever felt happier. None come to mind. They were with each other all through his final years at secondary school; her image, her feelings and affection was often enough to get him through the day, enough to distract him from the bullies that seemed to haunt his daily lifestyle. Even when he did not see her for nearly two months because of his exams, they still found each other. Both of them had been through some tough times sure, but they had stuck together throughout.

He blinked rapidly, sniffling like a child who had been caught and scolded for stealing from a cookie jar before his teatime. So, if his life had been his own slice of paradise, why did it just go to shit that quickly?

He could not think of a rational explanation, if he was honest. He had never really seen or been able to decipher any problems that she may have had. They had always said they would be honest with how they felt. He had tried that one.

He thought back. When he had started college, she had been so happy for him. She had always wanted him to go to university, to the be the best he could possibly be, to stretch himself to his full potential. Everything he did, he did for her. He pushed himself above and beyond for her. He thought of her now, smiling at him with those perfect, straight white teeth. Her puppy dog brown eyes would often lock with his own, and within them he could lose himself, forgot the worries of the day. When he looked into her eyes, he could see comfort, love and desire. Just by looking at her, you could tell that she loved him. Brunette hair was often left down, rippling down her back like a mouth-watering chocolate waterfall. Her build was perfect, from her legs to her breasts, curves seemed to be in all the right places and all her clothes seemed to compliment her, whether or not he would see her in the morning or at eleven at night.

She had been perfect. Himself, a little less so.

Maybe that was the issue, he thought to himself. She was perfect. She had everything going for her. She was beautiful to the point it used to take the breath away from him flawlessly without even trying; she was so smart she aced all of her classes; and she was so popular it was sometimes hard to keep up with the amount of people he was meeting. It hurt to know that realistically he never even stood a chance with her; who had he been kidding all these years? In fact, in hindsight, it was probably a miracle she had even stayed with him for this long.

Of course, that had been a question which had thrown into the works, hoping to get to the bottom of the issues. His hands unwilling grip his bedsheets, sweat dripping like a slow rain from his body. He cannot concentrate without her. His body is refusing to give in; he had hit the denial.

"This cannot be real..." He whispers, his voice hoarse and sore for no use and the may tears that he had shed.

She had told him that he had pressured her into many things that she did not want to do; although she had told him many times that he never pressured her. She had told him that he was a horrid boyfriend, and that she felt it was better if they split. He had begged, pleaded, cried until he could cry no more, but she would not listen. Of course, he should not be surprised; she was that type of girl. She was decisive, and when she made her mind up, it was hard to change, if you even succeeded. She wanted to wait for a few years, until they were both settled, and then, if they found their way back to one another, then she'd happily take him back.

But he had gotten angry at this; why should he wait? There had never been any problems before, never any issues that needed to be fixed. So why should he wait? He had slung this question back at her with the same force a cobra spits venom. She had replied calmly, saying that at present time she was just too busy and something needed to suffer. Clearly, she had chosen him. Of course, he had to just accept it. He would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that she had got to him, breaking him over and over. His heart felt like it had been ground to a finely ground dust; clogging up his lungs and making it difficult to breath. Every breath felt like a lifeline, but his body and mind had just given up; he could not see the point in living.

His eyes travelled to the draw that normally held his socks; deep within the draw, curled up within a pair of socks he never wore, was a small Swiss Army knife. For a split second, he truthfully considered slitting himself, ending his pathetic life. No-one cared, not really. His parents... he felt like they didn't love him anymore. He was out of the house so he did not annoy them, so he did not get under anyone's feet. Of course, they took all of this the wrong way. they thought he was being unsociable and as such always yelled and told him off.

But if they just knew, if they could just _understand,_ maybe they would be different. But their would be no point in complaining. They would not listen to him. His friends would not care, not understand why he had chosen to end his life. They would probably laugh, he mused, at his stupidity. They all had their conversations on their opinions on people who committed suicide, and it was not pretty. They would not care, they would not miss him.

As if in a trance, he walked to the draw and ripped it open, certain that ending his life would be easier on everyone involved, including himself. What was the point in being here? He caused her so much pain; he caused so many people pain unwilling through actions he was not even sure he was committing. The knife rolled out of the socks and into his hands. The smooth plastic felt like a hot rock in his sweaty palm, burning and etching itself into his pink skin. Shaking fingers unsheathed the blade. Running it along his thumb, a sharp pain confirmed that the blade in question was sharp and deadly. He watched the blood in wonder as it trickled down his hand on onto his wrist. No matter how much pain he felt, it could never amount to the pain he felt deep inside. His heart was pounding so much it felt like it was going to break his ribcage, but it couldn't rival the pain that he was experiencing.

He raised the knife to his throat, already stained with his blood from his thumb. He could feel the cool steel pressing lightly against the flimsy skin that separated his throat from the rest of the world. He could not stop himself from thinking that this was right; maybe this was the most sane decision he was ever going to make; clearly, it would be his last. He closed his eyes and his grip on the knife tightened. His whole body was shaking, but he was more determined than ever. This is probably what she wanted; him gone from the face of the earth.

But sense came crashing over like a tsunami, washing away the idiocy and replacing it with with pure, harsh common sense. He dropped the knife, feeling the air escape from him like he had been sucker punched in the gut. The knife clatters onto the floor but the impact sounded like a hand grenade in his ears, rebounding off of the walls of his skull. He collapsed onto the bed, letting sobs wrack his body and mind, depression consuming him, erasing his thoughts and feelings, leaving himself feeling numb and idiotic. He wrapped himself up in a blanket, rolling around, trying to comfort himself.

Did he really just try to take his own life?

Had he really come to the point where he felt that he could just not continue? No, he decided. There were many things he was and many things he had been accused of being, but a quitter was most certainly not any of the above. He had never been one to run away from his problems, but this was one problem he just did not want to face at all. He wished it would go away, never to be seen or heard from again. But this was one of these problems that he could not fix, one that facts, figures, logic and hard work could not fix. This was one of those things that would never truly go away.

Chasing after this girl would be like chasing a cloud. Out of reach and impossible. Maybe he should just move on...

_If this is truly what you want, then I will not contest it, I will not fight. I respect you enough to know that for whatever reason, you made this decision because you believed it to be right. I will leave you, holding onto the memories that you given me. I thank you for the best three years of my life, and just know that I will always love you, no matter what happens. People will tell me to forget you, and I might talk about you in a foul way, but I will never mean it, because I know deep down that I miss you so much it hurts. But no amount of crying will get you back._

He walked to the window, throwing his curtains wide with numb fingers. He's staring at the moonlight now, the reflection of the moon shining bright in his eyes as he thinks of her. The snow, her perfume, her perfect figure, everything about her now ran through his mind. He closed his eyes, tears following the tracks that similar ones had already made on his face. A small smile made it's way onto his face as a defeated feeling dripped over his body. His eyes closed, the smile growing a little bigger.

_I wish you luck in the future. You will find everything you want and more. I hope that this man, or even woman you meet will be able to supply and give you everything you both want and need, as it seems that I clearly could not manage that. But I will always love you._

His eyes open again, his lashes damp and wet, as he turns from the window. His eyes land on the picture of the two of them that sat on his bedside table. He closed his eyes again, picturing that scene in his mind's eyes.

_Always._


End file.
